9309/Blood and Ichor

Blood and Ichor
Date of Scene:	25 September 2019
Location:	Wellness Office - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Students attempt to treat the injured Jeremy.
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Psylocke, Triage, Nightingale, Samuel Morgan
Tinyplot:	Asgard's Requiem

---

Loki has posed:
The wellness office is in a bit of chaos. There's a young teenage boy, and there's some difficulty related to him. He doesn't want to stay on the bed, and there's been some activity in the room.

Things are flung about and hover poltergeist style: papers, bits of gloves and blanket: nothing dangerous. The boy himself is maybe fourteen, and has partially wrapped bloody hands, and gashes on his face and neck. He's wearing a bright red zipper hoodie, jeans, sneakers, and still has a backpack over one shoulder, the other strap discombobulated. He is not interested in being stuck with needles, and is somehow good at evading it, even if extremely pale from bloodloss. He's very messy: blood is all over him.

Psylocke has posed:
"This way," Betsy says as she opens the door to the Wellness Clinic. She pauses two steps inside, eyes widening at all the disarray. "It was a bit less...chaotic when I went to look for you." Her words are for those behind her but her eyes go straight to Jeremy.

"Staff, please step back a moment." She moves forward, still dressed as she had been upon the arrival of the young man. White gi pants, bare feet and a blue tank top. The gi jacket was left outside after she used strips from it to try and bandage his bleeding hands before he was transported inside.

"Jeremy. These people are trying to help you."

Triage has posed:
"Chaos is becoming the new normal around these parts," Triage answers and steps through the open doorway. He nudges the mirrored sunglasses on his forehead to prevent them from flopping downward. Once he's inside the door, he stops and glances behind him to someone else following. Then he asks, "What happened? What help does he need?"

Nightingale has posed:
"Tell me about it... what's that about frying pans and fires?" A light, brief feminine chuckle is heard a short distance behind Triage; following in his wake is a young woman who looks as if she could be no more than maybe sixteen years old. She's clad in a quirky Tweety Bird t-shirt, light blue straight-legged jeans, and well-worn white sneakers. One thing at her belt, at odds with a 'normal' teen, is an old, worn brown leather bag, with runes worked into the leather in an eye-catching pattern. It has an ancient, yet somehow otherworldly appearance to it. She stops in her tracks at the sight of the Wellness Office in such a state, eyebrows raised, and struck into momentary silence. "What the... what happened?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    It's a known weakness. Whenever someone is injured, and someone calls 'healer', or on the battlefield 'Medic', the healer/medic will start running over almost immediately, heedless of danger and with utter disregard for anything else that might be going in. In short, it's an ideal way to target those inclined to assist others, and deny an organisation access to their medical personnel. Call him paranoid, but when the urgent call came for Triage and Shannon, Sam wasn't going to just let them go without tagging long.

    Call him the bodyguard.

    He's dressed to the limits of casualness himself, with loose sweatpants and a loose short sleeved shirt that doesn't cover the scars on his arms. No shoes, no socks... Right now he's hanging back, coming in just after Shannon, and hovering metaphorically just in the background, eyes on Jeremy...

Loki has posed:
When the staff members step back and give Jeremy a little space, he makes himself sit up partially on the bed, one leg pulled towards him: clearly tense and in physical pain. His eyes are a light blue, which makes them stand out strongly in the red blood of his face. "Okay. Okay. Stop sticking me, though," Jeremy says to Betsy and the staff members, with a pointed look at an IV that had the intention of helping with his obviously severe bloodloss. Technically nobody has stuck him with anything yet. He draws his wrapped arms in towards him, and then suddenly all the items floating stop floating: they drop to the floor or other surfaces, as if he realized he shouldn't be doing that. He takes in the arrivals in a disoriented way.

Psylocke has posed:
"You have lost a lot of blood. They were trying to help with that by starting fluids and, potentially, a transfusion." She glances to the pair of healers and their bodyguard, as she takes in how he is keeping watch. It is a positive yet also slightly amusing that he took that role upon himself. He's new to the school, one she hasn't had the opportunity to read up on yet.

Betsy walks to the bedside, looking at the bloody figure without. "You are covered in wounds and blood. You need a transfusion most likely. And they need to clean you up. I was hoping you might try to cooperate with them and, should it become necessary, we will pull out the more powerful healers." She doesn't mention who those healers are and very pointedly does not look at the trio behind her when she says it.

"He was found on the lawn with an illusory companion who told us he needed medical assistance," she offers to the students. Then she speaks to Jeremy again. "Perhaps you can answer their questions?" She motions to the small grouping. "This is Jeremy. He has visited us before, when Doctor Strange needed medical assistance," she tells them by way of introduction. Then she leaves it to them if they want to introduce themselves to the stranger.

Triage has posed:
Wearing jeans, a hoodie that sports the logo of a local jazz club, and gray sneakers that look as if they would provide good traction on slippery surfaces, Triage steps toward the bed. "Hey," he greets in a gentle, warm voice. "I'm Chris." He raises both hands to show that they are empty. "We won't hurt you. We won't stick you with needles, but anyone can see that you're bleeding. We need to stop that, and you need some bandages. We want to help, but we need for you to lie still and work with us. Ok?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles warmly at Jeremy, likewise keeping her hands in sight, and empty. "Hi... I'm Shannon." Her voice is soft, a silky alto, though with a note beneath it that suggests no small amount of steel if pushed to it. "Looks like you got dinged up pretty good there... will you let us help? I'll sit right with you if you want." Her smile reaches her pale blue eyes; she tilts her head, glancing briefly around the room, then back to Jeremy.

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    With the situation currently calm, Bean steps further into the room as well, towards the bed, but not in a direct line. First and foremost, he picks a pair of sterile gloves from their box, dons them, and then hands the box around to Triage and Shannon. Plenty of blood around, no reason to take any chances.

    With everyone being nice and friendly and clearly non-hostile, the blue eyed teenager hooks his right ankle around the stem of a rolling stool and pulls it closer, sitting down with his right foot on the cross bar, and his left on the floor, ready to spring up at any moment, but at least now sitting and more at Jeremy's level. "I don't know who Doctor Strange is, but I do know that those..." and he motions to the general direction of the bloodied hands "... don't look like defensive wounds to me. Kid, if I find whoever did that to you, I'm gonna kick their ass, that's a Sam Morgan promise."

Loki has posed:
"Um." There's a lot to cover in Betsy's question, and it looks like the dizzy young mage has to take a second to unpack it. "Magic is real. Dr. Strange is a big wizard." Sam asked, sort of.
"I do some magic. Um. A demon, or maybe an evil wizard--- hurt me. It's really awful. I don't want a transfusion, I don't like needles or knives," Jeremy says, haltingly. "I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know." Hands shaking, the boy pulls his hands towards his face, the digits trembling. The healers coming in and identifying themselves seems to help: the patient sits still, watching them.

"Jeremy," he replies, when given the names. "It's all over me." Not just the arms and face. The red hoodie might be concealing a lot.

Psylocke has posed:
This is where Betsy steps back. Her purpose was to bring the healers. She has done that. Otherwise, she is not really one to be helping with medical problems so she simply falls silent for now, letting them do their work. Of course, she remains present, ready to act if things got out of hand again.

Triage has posed:
When Sam offers the box, Triage nods and tugs at the latex fingers sticking through the top - one glove and then another. He rolls them onto his hands, holds them up for the kid to see, and steps forward. "It's okay. You're safe, and we won't use any needles or knives. We're here to help you, and if we can't help, we know other folks who probably can." He reaches for one of Jeremy's hands. "If you have more than this, we'll need to have a proper look. Is that okay?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods to Samuel, tugging a pair of gloves out of the box when it's passed her way. She smiles, letting Jeremy see her putting the gloves on. No funny business. She nudges another rolling stool to come up alongside where Jeremy is lying down, sitting down next to him. "Chris is pretty good. And he doesn't give up easily." She glances all along the boy's body, visually assessing what is immediately visible of the wounds. "You're safe in here. Could you tell us what happened? What got you so dinged up?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "In your own time, no pressure." Sam qualifies, giving Triage and Shannon a quick look. He's no doctor, but he understands shock, and the last thing anyone needs is the onset of hysteria. "By the by, these two..." and he motions to Shannon and Triage "... are the only ones I ever let near me when I get hurt. I trust them, and I don't trust easy. They're good people, let them help you."

Loki has posed:
"You're doctors? You're my age," Jeremy asks the trio, including Sam in this question. He's a little critical of them, but it isn't fear: others his own age seem to be, at least, a calming presence. "I mean. A little older," Jeremy adjusts, but the distraction about that seems to be helpful: hard to be hysterical when you are calculating how many years old the other young people might be.

"My chest and arms too," Jeremy answers Triage, but doesn't actively move to use his hands: they're bound up in the scraps Betsy tore up to wrap them, anyway, and are hard to see. The injuries on his face and neck are more visible. They look less like defensive cuts, and more like there's patterns somehow, like tree roots or webs.

There's no reason to not let them touch his wrapped hand or arm, so long as they're gentle, so Jeremy does allow contact.

Triage has posed:
"We're not doctors but we're students and we've had some great lessons in biology, chemistry, first aid, and ... other medical topics," Triage explains. When Jeremy seems receptive, Triage rests his hand on the teen's arm and closes his eyes for a moment. He frowns. He opens his eyes, glances to Shannon, and closes them again, this time more tightly in concentrating to send some of his healing life-force in a measured dose into the boy's body.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles softly and tugs open the bag at her belt. There are some alcohol wipes inside, and she removes one or two of them, tearing one open to start clearing away some of the blood on Jeremy's arm. The sharp, acrid scent of isopropyl alcohol lingers in the air, and even she wrinkles her nose with a soft chuckle. "Just going to try and clean this up a bit, get a better lo...." Her voice trails off, and she frowns slightly. "Chris..." When she turns the wipe over to show him, part of it is stained an improbable, deep shade of blue. Yes, there is some red, as with normal blood, but the blue is very odd, indeed. "Have you ever seen this?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "A doctor, me?" Sam-Bean has to smile at that, determine to introduce some levity. He's not too much older than the other teen, and not involved in the entire diagnostic process. No, right now he's the 'face', the guy who keeps the patient talking so they don't start to worry too much. "I can't even play Minecraft properly. No, I let the experts do their work, I'm usually more on the receiving end of things." Some of those are blatant lies, of course, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. And his Minecraft skills truly are abysmal. "Bet it's easier to play when you can let the screen float to wherever you want, right?"

Triage has posed:
Shannon's worried gasp interrupts. Triage forces his eyes to open slowly so that the flow of life-force does not stop abruptly, possibly causing further problems. He turns his head to look at the wipe, then at Shannon. "Ooh ..." he murmurs. He shakes his head. "I don't know what that is but it isn't normal," he answers. "You and I can help but we might need ... bigger guns for this battle."

Loki has posed:
The healing efforts are effective, the healers will sense, with the direct damage. A lot of damage was taken, very clearly, but it isn't just gashes, as Shannon has now found: there is some kind of weird, dark blue awful 'stuff' deeply in the wounds, in dribbles, that ignores healing. It is resistant to healing, a clingy foreign object inside the cuts. How to remove it may be unclear, but the healing itself is clearly going to do most of the heavy lifting, because it is as if huge gashes were cut into the boy by something, but it only left dribbles behind here and there.

"That--- feels really weird," says Jeremy, squinting, tensing up. He also tries to pull away when Shannon dabs at the blue pus stuff, but she does get some. "Ouch."

"I haven't played Minecraft in.... ages," he admits to Sam.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon considers the gash on the boy's arm, inclining her head. "I'm sorry. You're doing really well. Just hold still a moment longer." She frowns slightly; this was going to be a little more tricky than she'd thought at first. There was more of that ichor, and it had to be gotten rid of somehow. She disposes of the alcohol wipe properly, returning to Jeremy's side and sitting down. This time, she actually takes off her gloves. "This shouldn't hurt. It'll feel a little warm, maybe tickle a little. But that's it, okay? I'm just trying to see how deep some of these cuts are."

When she gets the okay from Jeremy, she rests her hand over the wound, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Her brows furrow. Something was very, very wrong here. "Chris... stop what you're doing. Please. Stop."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "I've only just started playing." Sam admits, tacitly ignoring the healers doing their thing. Outwardly, at least. Internally he's making mental notes and updating threat assessments. "But man, I suuuuuck. There's a guy here that is like a Minecraft god."

    Of all people, Shannon might think it odd that Bean is talking like this, open and almost contemporary, rather than his usual far more formal approach to conversation. "Look, they're probably going to want to take a look to make sure there's nothing else wrong with you. Advanced notice, they're probably gonna ask you to take your hoodie off. Just letting you know in advance. Don't worry about it, they've seen me with my shirt off and they didn't run for the hills, so you're all good."

    His friendly banter falters for a moment, hearing Shannon call for Triage to stop. Watching Jeremy, he keeps both healers in the corners of his eyes, left foot twisting slightly on the ground.

Triage has posed:
Triage starts to close his eyes, intending to continue his work until Shannon's voice, seeming near panic, catches him. His eyes spring open. He looks at her. "What is it?" Then he looks to Jeremy. Taking a slow breath, he nods. "Do you remember what I said earlier? We might need to bring in some ... other people who can help you. In any case, we won't leave you."

Loki has posed:
"Others? I?. maybe." Jeremy seems mostly disoriented at Chris's questions. "I--- I'll get the hoodie. Just a second," says the young mageling to Sam. He unwraps more of his fingers. The fingers are very bad, they are garbage-disposal-slice level of awful. He uses them anyway, draws them in a little pattern in the air, and then pulls the soft flutter of lilac colored magic towards himself. The hoodie and shirt dispel, leaving a rather horrifying array of cuts. There's less blood here, which makes the patterns suddenly very obvious: they follow all the major veins, as if someone injected him with magical blades that sliced patterns up all his arteries. It's more intense at hands and arms, shoulders, but there's a lot over the chest and neck, too.

The use of magic makes all of the blue ichor pulse, and damages his flesh just a hair more. "Okay," Jeremy says tiredly, slumping backwards on the bed. "Go nuts."

Aside from the injuries, he looks like a pretty ordinary teen boy, that probably shouldn't be awake with that much damage, the pain is possibly astronomical.

He appears to then promptly pass out.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon sighs softly as Jeremy passes out, drawing her own hand away from his arm. She shakes her head, and traces her finger above the cuts, to illustrate to Triage what she's trying to say. "That blue stuff on the wipe... it goes deep. It just... feels wrong. Very wrong. I don't know what it is." She sits back on her stool, pursing her lips slightly. "If we seal the cuts now, I'm worried it may get sealed inside. But I don't know how to get the stuff out of there."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    Sam has seen injuries, but those are... well, next level. When Jeremy passes out, he stands up almost immediately, using his right foot to give the stool a shove and send it rolling away, so it doesn't get in the way of the bed that he suspects is about to become busy with activity. "Tell me what you need, I'll assist." He's already halfway across the room, reaching for the bandages and antiseptic.

Triage has posed:
Triage stares at the blue traces, like a bizarre overlay of the circulatory system in blue ink outside the boy's skin. He frowns. "My instinct is to heal him but I see what you mean," he admits, looking to Shannon. "Did you sense it? The stuff doesn't /feel/ natural. It's like a ... goo, a sludge in his veins. It's everywhere but it doesn't seem to be moving, as if something injected it and it simply stuck." He removes his hand from Jeremy's arm and moves ot lay his hand on Shanon's arm instead. "I don't think that we should try to deal with this ourselves. We need more eyes looking at this to decide what it is."

Psylocke has posed:
As the boy reveals the full extend of his wounds, Betsy doesn't budge. Her expression remains passive but the truth is that is some serious damage. Who would do that to someone? And why? Considering who she was, or was merged with, it was easy to recognize all the vital areas where the wounds existed with this unknown substance. "Doctor McCoy or we may need Doctor Strange since magic seems to be involved." She turns, pulling out her phone and preparing to send a message to the two men.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly. "Agreed. I was about to suggest Mr. McCoy myself. But who's this Doctor Strange? Meantime... is there any way we can safely get a sample of the stuff for one, the other, or both to analyze? There's some fairly close to the surface in some of these cuts." She sighs softly, hanging her head. "This one's out of our league, Chris. Sucks to say it, but I'm not willing to bet this kid's life on trying to be a hero here."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    For now, Sam has just prepared everything he thinks people might need, organised it all carefully, looked at it, organised it again... and then has to concede that there is nothing left for him to actually do. Jeremy turned out not to be dangerous... no, mental correction, turned out not to be aggressive, and his medical knowledge extends no further than the times he himself has been injured. "Didn't he say he was attacked by a demon?"

Triage has posed:
Triage turns when he hears Sam's shuffling. "Bean, Shannon's right. Give me another pair of gloves, two swab-sticks, and two specimen bottles or something like them that are long enough to hold the swabs. Be sure that they have lids." He waits for the response.

Psylocke has posed:
"Doctor Strange is a sorcerer of significant power. He is also a medical doctor. So two birds with one stone, so to speak." Betsy moves away a little bit and starts with the thumbs flying over the front of her phone.

Loki has posed:
The boy is coming around, but doesn't seem aware that he was out. "I took my ... hoodie and shirt off," reports Jeremy slowly, fuzzy. "So we can heal my cuts now, right," he continues, seeming to be doggedly holding onto awareness.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon disposes of her old gloves, and gets up to retrieve a fresh pair. There was no way she was going to take a chance on accidentally sealing the wounds, not with that blue ichor inside him. The precious few moments are enough for her to gather her composure, taking a few deep breaths before it seems Jeremy is waking up. "Hey, welcome back! We're calling for a little extra help on this one." She turns to smile at the injured teen, moving to slide back onto the stool with just a little whisper of denim against the material beneath her. "How are you feeling?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "On it." Ah yes. Something to do! The specimen bottles were not part of his earlier preparation, but they're not too hard to find in a well stocked first aid station like this. Jars. Lids. Gloves. Swabs and Q-tips. All of them hurried over on a tray to Shannon and Triage. "Experts here say there's some crap in those cuts they want to get out first." And Sam's back to being the jovial, genial kind of guy.

Triage has posed:
Triage nods to Sam. He pulls on the fresh gloves, then he takes the swabs, jars, and lids, and lines them in a row along the edge of the bed. Next, he explains to the patient, "We need to get two samples." He shows the first swab. This won't hurt but it might tickle." He swipes the swab along one of the still open cuts, smearing the cotton with dark blue goo. He grabs a plastic bottle with his free hand, drops the swab into it, wooden end first, and then pops a lid on it. He repeats the steps to put another goo-laden swab in the second bottle with lid securely fastened. "One for each doctor," he announces. Looking to Betsy, he asks, "Do you know how quickly Doctor Strange can be here?" Then he turns to Sam and asks, "Can you get Dr. McCoy ASAP?"

Loki has posed:
"I... knew I should have kept my shirt on. Makes all the girls go running," 'jokes' the injured teenager. The swabbing gets some shifting and pain from the boy; he also starts to rotate towards his side, and pulls his feet towards the floor. Evidently he thinks he's going to go take a walk somewhere. "So my diagnosis is 'nope', isn't it," Jeremy asks while he attempts to hang his legs over the side of the bed. He drips with blood from the reopened cuts from his motion, but it's not a lot.

"Crap in cuts. So we remove that, then. I'll do it." Surely THAT sounds safe. "Don' tell Strange I'm here. I wasn't 'sposed to go fight; he might not keep me as apprentice, and that's my /life/ dream," Jeremy whispers loudly, tone urgent but weak, as if expecting the other teens there to understand. Teenager secret, guys.

Psylocke has posed:
"No idea since I'm getting his voicemail," Betsy says in a slightly grumpy tone. She leaves a quick message at the beep then glances back to Jeremy. Sadly, she doesn't know any other magic types so this is now in the hands of the healers. Maybe Dr. McCoy will have some ideas. It's moments like this, she kind of wishes she had followed the path to becoming a doctor.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon shakes her head, and chuckles. "I haven't gone running, have I? Come on, lie back down. I can't imagine you're feeling any too good right about now." She shoots Triage a 'help me' look as Jeremy seems ready to take matters into his own hands, and attempt removal of the ichor himself. Her attention is turned once more towards Jeremy, and she smiles softly. "We all have dreams. Sometimes those change. Sometimes they don't. Music was one of mine. Now... perhaps, medicine."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    The only response Triage gets from Sam when Doctor McCoy is requested, is the pattering of bare feet as they hurry out of the office. Neither rain, nor snow, nor uncarpeted hallways will stay this messenger from his task...

Triage has posed:
Finished with the bottles, Triage returns to the bed in time to see the kid trying to escape. "I told you. You're safe here. Whatever happens, you're safe. Now, relax. That stuff is like a glue, holding your blood inside. You won't die. You'll be fine soon." He glances to Shannon and grins. "Music? Who says that you can't pursue that dream in other ways?"

Loki has posed:
"My magic doesn't work to pull it out, am I going to die?" Jeremy asks, seemingly scared, but allows himself to be returned back to the bed for the moment. He lays back, and seems to at least try to relax. "I'm not giving up my dreams either," he says skeptically, of her suggesting his dreams may have to change.

Jeremy seems more coherent, and willing to allow the help -- for now.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods firmly and smiles. "You don't have to give up your dreams. And no, we're going to do our damnedest to make sure you don't die. Still got a lot of living to do there." To Triage, she smiles, tilting her head. "You know... you're right. Maybe there /are/ ways." She settles back down onto the stool, her gloved hand resting gently on the edge of the bed, as she hums a light, lilting melody, a vestige of a dream not yet gone cold. "You'll be okay. We'll make sure of it."